The Raven
by silverwrym
Summary: Reid gets a mysterious midnight visitor.
1. The Raven

This is set right after "A Slave to Duty."  
Hotch is drunk (a mean one) but I didn't write the slurring into the dialogue...just imagine it's there.

I honestly don't know where this idea came from and I'm not sure if it's any good. But hey, I wrote it and if even one of you out there likes it than that made it all worth it.

I don't own or make a profit off of Criminal Minds or Edgar Allan Poe's "The Raven."

* * *

A vicious clap of thunder boomed through the air around midnight, waking up the lone occupant of Dr. Spencer Reid's apartment.

The genius's eyes flew open at the loud clap and for a moment he panicked. Did a bomb just go off right down the street?

He would have hopped out of his bed to look out his window if it wasn't for his knee injury. The idea of grabbing his crutches and hobbling across the room wasn't very appealing. So he threw on his glasses and snatched his T.V. remote control off of the nightstand. He tuned on the television and scrolled through the guide until he found one of the local stations, checking to see if there were any severe weather warnings.

Alas, there were no alerts posted on any of the local channels, leading Reid to deduce that what woke him up was just an abnormally loud clash of thunder spurned from a relatively harmless storm. He turned the T.V. back off and looked back toward his window. Now, in addition to the storm's impressive fireworks display, the rain had started to relentlessly pelt the thin sheet of glass.

"Figures," he muttered, pushing a strand of hair out of his face as a few quick flashes of lightening infiltrated his room. The successive rumbles of thunder swiftly followed the electrical charges, causing Reid to fall back into his pillows with a groan. "God, I hope this doesn't keep me awake all night."

He closed his eyes and tried to block out all the sounds that were assaulting his brain when a particular crash of thunder caught his attention.

He opened his maple brown eyes and squinted, causing his nose to scrunch up in what Garcia liked to call his "cutey-wooty bunny wrabbit face." He strained his ears, hoping that he'd hear the peculiar thunder again.

It didn't take too long for the sound to emanate through his apartment once again and Reid realized that it wasn't caused by the storm.

" _Tis some visitor tapping at my chamber door – only this and nothing more"_ he murmured, the poetic prose from Edgar Allan Poe's "The Raven" coming to mind immediately.

Hoping that the inconsiderate soul that thought a midnight visit was appropriate would just go away, Spencer closed his eyes again and held his breath.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

"No such luck," he grumbled. He sat up slowly and gently pivoted his body so that his legs would hang off the side of the bed. He then unplugged his cell phone from its charger and slid it into his pocket. His gun, which he hadn't secured in a safe because he had been too tired when he got home, was dropped into his other pajama pant pocket. The injured agent then reached over and grabbed his two crutches from where they were propped up by the side of his bed. He positioned them under his armpits and used them as leverage to help himself stand up from his seated position.

Quietly, he shuffled down the hall. Once he reached the living room he flipped on the light switch that connected to two of his floor lamps. The soft yellow glow penetrated the darkness and chased away some of the shadows.

Another knock thudded against the door, reminding him that his visitor was still waiting for him to answer.

Spencer cautiously approached the door, trying his best to keep his crutches from tapping too loudly against the hardwood floor. He wanted to look through the peephole without letting his mysterious caller know that he was on the other side of the door.

Unfortunately, the floor creaked with his last step, betraying his presence.

"Reid, open the door."

"Hotch?" the genius whispered to himself in disbelief before he did a quick check through the eyehole to confirm his guess. "What in the world?"

Spencer reached up and unlocked the deadbolt before fiddling with the doorknob. He opened the door and asked his boss, "Hotch, what's going on? Is there a case? I swear my phone didn't go off."

The raven haired man didn't answer his subordinate's question; rather he pushed his way into Reid's apartment, brusquely brushing by the injured tenant.

The younger agent caught a whiff of a pungent woody scent on Hotch's clothes as the man passed by him.

Whisky.

Reid immediately recognized the distinct smell and felt a shiver of fear down his spine. Hotch, the man who had just laid his wife to rest a few days ago, had shown up drunk at his apartment in the middle of the night.

Nothing good would come of this.

Slowly, Spencer closed the door and refastened the locks before turning around to face the inebriated unit chief.

"Hotch? Why don't you have a seat? I'll put on a pot of coffee," Reid suggested, eyeing the typically stone-faced man for any hint of emotion.

Aaron maintained his stoic silence but took Spencer's advice and sat down on the couch. He then turned his hardened eyes towards his host and wordlessly watched as Reid shuffled into the kitchen nook.

Spencer quickly set to work on making the proffered beverage. He pulled out his specialty grounds and scooped them into the white filter. While the water started to percolate he retrieved two mugs from his cupboard and the cream from his refrigerator. He didn't bother to go and sit down with Hotch in the living room, knowing that coffee would be ready in a few minutes.

He took the extra time he had to himself and tried to decide on a course of action. Should he call Rossi? Dave is Aaron's best friend, perhaps the older profiler would know how to handle an intoxicated Hotch better than Reid would.

But then again, why didn't Hotch just go to Rossi's in the first place?

Deciding that he needed a few answers before he could make an informed decision, Reid tried asking the austere man a question. "S-so what brings you here? I-I mean, not that you're not welcome…or anything like that. It's just that…this is…unexpected…," he trailed off awkwardly.

"I was in the area – at The Oak Tavern," Hotch stated with a level tone.

"The Oak Tavern?" Reid asked, trying to hide the quiver in his voice.

"Yes. I'm sure you remember that bar. It's the one we were at the night of the Super Bowl – before we got called away to Georgia."

Spencer licked his lips and glanced over at Hotch, "Yeah…I remember."

" _Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling, By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore_."

The words of the poem from earlier came unbidden into his mind. Did he really see the glimmer of a smirk on Hotch's face when he'd told him that he remembered which bar they were at that fateful night the Hankel case kicked off?

The younger agent shook his head back and forth. There is no way that his boss would take pleasure from reminding him of such pain.

"Uh-Hotch, you're-uh-you're going to have to come and grab your cup of coffee. I can barely carry my own, and that's only if I use one crutch," Reid called to the other man after he'd finish adding cream and sugar to both mugs.

"Why are you on crutches? You've been using only a cane for the last two weeks at work," Hotch asked, suspiciously.

"I don't really need them that often anymore. It's just that…sometimes I push myself too far during the day, which causes my knee to swell up and ache at night. So when I get home I put the larger brace back on it and use the crutches to help alleviate the pain," he explained as he set aside his left crutch and grabbed his cup. He hobbled over to the couch and placed his drink down on the end table before lowering himself down onto a cushion. The genius sat back into the worn leather and closed his eyes as a spasm shot through his leg. He tried to rub his wound around the cumbersome brace that he had on but his ministrations proved fruitless. "S-so, why were you at The Oak?" he asked, trying to take his mind off the pain.

Hotch, whose critical eyes had watched the boy intently on his trek from the kitchen, shifted in his seat. "It caught my eye on my ride home and decided to stop in."

Reid's brown eyes snapped open, "Y-you didn't drive here, did you?"

The unit chief growled as if he was insulted, "No, Reid. I may be slightly drunk but I'm not stupid. The bar is less than a mile from here. I walked."

The words 'slightly drunk' were definitely an understatement that didn't fool the genius. He easily picked up on the mild slurring of his words that unit chief was trying to hide. "Oh," Spencer said meekly, deciding it was in his best interest not to mention his observation. "Are-aren't you going to get your coffee?"

"No."

Now incredibly uncomfortable and at a loss for what his superior wanted with him, Reid looked down and stuttered, "O-okay."

A silence as thick as a wet wool blanket settled over the two men. The only noises that could be heard were the random vehicles driving by on the city street below and the humming of the lights illuminating the room around them.

" _But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token,"_ Spencer murmured quietly when he could take the hush no more.

"What was that?"

"Oh-uh…nothing. I-I have Edgar Allan Poe's "The Raven" stuck in my head for some reason. I-it's a poem about a man lamenting over…over the loss…," again Reid couldn't find it in himself to finish his broken sentence.

"Of Lenore," Hotch supplied with a caustic smile, as if Reid had unwittingly told a bad joke. "Reid, I've heard the poem before. Who hasn't?"

"Yeah…it is one of his most famous works," Spencer confirmed. He paused a few seconds before saying, "Sorry," worried that his boss would think he purposefully brought up a poem that dealt with the death of a loved one.

"I want to see it," Hotch demanded out of nowhere.

Reid, confused by the man's request, looked up and saw that Aaron eyes were trained on his knee. "W-what?"

"I want to see it," the man repeated forcefully.

"Y-you want to see my knee?" the kid asked, searching Hotch's face for an explanation. Though, all he saw was mild curiosity and a hint of suspicion in the man's cloudy eyes.

"Yes. Show it to me."

"I-I…," he stuttered as his brain tried to come up with a reason to deny the other man his request.

"Reid, just do it," Hotch ordered.

The genius pursed his lips and swallowed the lump in his throat. "A-alright."

Reid righted himself on the couch cushion before he reached out his hands to help guide his leg up to rest on coffee table in front of him. His graceful fingers then glided down his pajama pant leg and started releasing the straps that held the brace in place. He placed the support on the table and watched as Aaron picked it up and inspected it.

"This isn't the first brace you were wearing," Hotch stated rather than asked.

"Uh-no, it isn't. I only needed that one for a short amount of time. My therapists were surprised at how quickly I graduated out of it. I guess it was all the effort I put into my physical therapy that helped," Reid clarified, pausing his actions.

The drunken unit chief tilted his chin up as if to say 'Get on with it' as he callously tossed the brace on the floor out of Reid's reach.

The genius faltered for a second, disturbed by Aaron's actions, "Uh-Hotch…I'm going to need that back in a minute."

The man grunted but didn't move to retrieve the support.

Spencer furrowed his brow and let his hands fall from his leg. He took a breath to bolster his courage and then asked, "Hotch, what is this all about?"

"I need a drink," was the other man's reply.

"Your coffee is on the –"

"I don't want coffee, genius," he said scathingly. "When a man says he wants a drink he usually means one named Johnnie, Jack, or Jim."

Reid's mouth snapped shut; his eyes shining with confusion and hurt.

"Now do you have any of those three gentlemen here or not?"

"Um…there should be a bottle of whiskey that Rossi gave me over a year ago in the pantry. But Hotch – don't you think –"

"Don't," the man snapped, "go there Reid. I know when I've had enough." The intimidating man turned heel and stalked into the kitchen. He ripped open the pantry and quickly located the unopen bottle of Johnnie Walker Blue. "Why did Dave give you the good stuff? You don't even know how to appreciate it?" he pondered out loud as he snatched a chipped coffee mug from the cabinet and poured a finger of liquid into it. He quickly tipped it back, barely savoring the smooth taste as it danced across his discerning palate.

Reid watched silently as his boss proceeded to gulp down three more shots of the potent liquor. Each time the older man threw back his head and drained his cup the genius's foreboding feelings grew. By the last shot the young man was fingering the phone in his pocket, wondering if he should call someone on the team for help.

The sound of shattering glass sliced through the air, distracting Reid from making his phone call. The younger agent looked toward his kitchen and saw pieces of the navy blue coffee mug that Hotch had been using strewn about on the floor. He looked up at the other man and saw him shrug.

"Slipped out of my fingers," he said nonchalantly, walking back to the couch and leaving the porcelain shards where they lay. "So, are you going to show me now or do I have to pull your pant leg up myself?"

Spencer's felt his heartbeat increase at the menace in Hotch's voice. He knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that the inebriated agent would follow through on his threat and at the moment he really didn't want the other man's hands on him. "I-I'll do it."

His gangly fingers shook as the reached down and grabbed the left leg's cuff. He gathered the fabric and pulled it gently up his leg, careful to avoid brushing against his knee. When the bunched up cloth reached his mid-thigh he drew his hand back.

The knobby knee looked especially red and swollen tonight; though the black and blue bruises had faded some time ago. Foolishly, he had been on his feet for most of the day, pushing himself too far for the sake of the case.

Aaron approached Spencer and crouched down next to his knee. He studied the entry scar left behind by the bullet and had the audacity to poke at the boy's enflamed knee.

Reid hissed at the sharp jab and automatically tried to swat Hotch's hand away. The unit chief seemed prepared for that though and snatched Spencer's lithe fingers, roughly squeezing them with his own.

"Hotch?" the younger man squeaked, surprised at his boss's rough handling.

The older man glared at his subordinate. "So that's it?"

"What?" Spencer asked with growing alarm.

"That little itty bitty gunshot wound is what's been causing you to limp around for the past few months?"

"Little? Hotch, it shattered my knee cap – "

"Unbelievable, Spencer. Leave it to you to make a mountain out of a molehill. What? Were you getting jealous of me getting all of the team's attention? Had to drag out your injury so that people would act like they gave a shit about you?"

"I-I didn't drag – "

"You know what, _kid_? Maybe if you stopped being such a goddamn nuisance and acted normal for once you wouldn't have to put on a charade to get people to notice you. You ever think about that?" the older man said contemptuously.

The sting that Hotch's words carried cut Reid to the core. They were very similar to the ones that the bullies would taunt him with back in high school. "I-I've would never fake an injury – "

"I didn't say that you faked this one. Did I, genius? No…I am merely implying that you've exaggerated it," he spat out with venom in his voice.

Reid felt tears welling in his eyes. He never in his life thought that Hotch would turn on him like this. Though he knew some of the man's behavior could be chalked up to the alcohol and the deep depression spiral Haley's death sent him down, he also knew that liquor loosened up a person's tongue. Somewhere deep inside his superior's mind he actually harbored these thoughts and at least partially believed they were true. "I-I think you should go now," the genius forced out, barely keeping his emotions at bay.

"No."

Spencer casted his glassy gaze up at the man he once respected deeply, "Well I'm not going to sit here while you belittle me and my injury." His fingers had just brushed the metal of his crutch when it was snapped out of his reach.

"Yes, you will. I'm not done yet," the ebony haired man stated authoritatively before he literally launched the crutch across the room.

Reid watched with wide eyes as his only support hit his wall length bookshelf and clattered to the floor, well out of his reach. Upon seeing that his only means of escape was beyond him, he reached into his pocket and pulled out his cell phone.

Unfortunately, the liquor hadn't impaired Hotch's reflexes as much as it had his good judgment. For the muscular agent effortlessly snatched the ancient cellular phone from his subordinate's hand and shoved it in his back pocket.

Reid looked up at the agent towering above him and asked timidly, "Why are you doing this?"

"Because you're going to listen to me for once," he slurred with his arms crossed over his chest and a hint of mirth shining in his hazy eyes. "You know, when I walked into that bar I couldn't help but think about how much fun I had dancing with Haley the last time we were there. Did you know that was the last time her and I danced before the divorce?"

"No," Reid admitted quietly.

"It was. We rarely ever got to go out and have fun like that due to work. It figures that a case popped up just in time to ruin our night," Hotch said bitterly. "But that got me to thinking about you."

"Me?"

"Riddle me this, genius – do you feel any guilt over the fact that Frank killed Sarah?"

"What?"

"Do you feel any guilt over the fact that it was your fault that Frank killed Sarah?" the older agent repeated almost word for word.

"M-my fault?"

"Yes, genius. Please don't tell me that you never realized that Gideon was completely focused on finding Frank up until you got yourself kidnapped by Hankel. You fucking distracted him – all of us – from what was really important, thus making Gideon and Sarah easy targets for that psychopath," Hotch stated as if it was common knowledge.

Reid flinched at the man's blunt explanation. "I-I never…never meant to…i-it wasn't on purpose…"

"Right, of course not. You only made one of the stupidest decisions of your life, endangered a teammate, and turned everyone's focus to you afterward by accident. I mean…how many hours did we all have to put in to detox you? And that was after you waited weeks to tell us – so that you were almost irrevocably addicted – making the effort to get you clean harder than it should have been. Really Reid, don't you feel even the least bit guilty that Gideon and the rest of us were so engrossed with your issues that we didn't have time to continue hunting down one of the most notable killers of our time?"

A ball of lead settled in the boy's stomach. He'd felt ashamed about his addiction before but now Hotch was shining a whole new light on it. This new perspective of one of the worst times of Spencer's life was one he had never considered. Was it really all his fault that Sarah had been killed – that Frank had gotten the upper hand on the BAU?

"Not to mention the fact that you were so out of commission during that time that you barely contributed anything of substance to our cases," Hotch continued, relishing the boy's suffering.

"I-I didn't think – "

"My point exactly," the unit chief said smugly. "You weren't thinking about Frank, we weren't thinking about Frank and that's how he got the upper hand on all of us…and now this time…"

"…this time…" Reid echoed hesitantly.

"This time when Foyet initially eluded us you decided to check out again. You got jealous that people weren't paying attention to you anymore. Your recovery from the drugs and overcoming the suffering you underwent with Hankel gave you a taste of what it was like to be taken care of – to be cared about – something you didn't get to experience too much as a kid," Aaron profiled. "You enjoyed it - craved it even - and I think since then you've gone out of your way to put yourself in situations that would bring out the caretaker side in all of us. So, all the other times you've put yourself in danger since Hankel speaks to the fact that you thrive on our interest in your well-being. And honestly, I wasn't the least bit surprised to find out that once again you had gotten yourself into trouble when I woke up," Hotch concluded.

"You honestly think I go out of my way to get hurt?" Reid asked incredulously.

"Sometimes…especially if it's been awhile since anyone has paid you attention or…if another team member has everyone's focus," the man said simply.

Reid was speechless at the agent's blunt words. He wanted to say something to prove Hotch wrong but his usually sharp mind had dulled under Aaron's vicious attack.

"And while I don't think that you purposefully went out of your way to get shot this time…it did happen and I think you milked it for all its worth. Except…this time your injury wasn't enough to keep the focus on you. But your need to be nurtured didn't get fulfilled so you prolonged your healing, desperate for one of the others to finally come and take care of you," he said matter-of-factly.

"No, you're wrong Hotch. I may…I may long for the companionship of others but I would never go out of my way to manipulate them like that. My injury is real and it has taken this long to heal…," Reid responded in a sullen voice. "And no one from the team ever came to help me out. I had to navigate that stairway out there twice a day with my crutches. On top of that I had to figure out how to bring groceries up those stairs; I had to navigate the subway stations by myself; _I_ had to get myself home from the hospital. I never once asked anyone for help. And you know why? Because I knew you needed them more."

"Ha!" the unit chief laughed sardonically. "If you were being so selfless than explain to me why you diminished your efforts when it came to finding Foyet?" He asked, his voice heating up with every syllable he spoke.

"I-I put my all into finding Foyet! We all did," the genius exclaimed, disturbed that the man thought otherwise.

"Really? Than explain to me why JJ was the one to figure out that Foyet was subbing over the counter meds for his prescriptions. I would think that someone that holds a doctorate in chemistry would have thought of that a long time ago," the man snapped furiously.

Spencer clenched his jaw in frustration. He knew he wasn't going to win against the irrational man before him. He dropped his gaze down to his knee, "Would you please just leave?

"Don't like hearing the truth?" he snarled.

"Please…go," the younger man implored, his voice downtrodden and defeated.

A derisive smile painted Hotch's face as he crouched down next to Reid's injured leg once more. He placed his hand over the swollen joint and gave it a mild squeeze.

Spencer immediately tensed up as his boss's sturdy fingers settled on his wound. His expressive brown eyes went wide as they searched Hotch's face for any sign of the compassionate man he once knew. "H-hotch?"

"Sure Reid, I'll leave…but not before I give you a parting gift," he said.

Reid's instincts were yelling at him to remove his knee from his mentor's grasp but he couldn't. Aaron had tightened his hold on Spencer's leg and started to squeeze it in a viselike grip. The genius started to whimper and wiggle, lightly jerking his seized appendage, trying to dislodge the other man.

"Don't…," he moaned as a stabbing pain started shooting through his knee. His distraught orbs silently beseeched his former friend but Aaron's russet eyes just hardened.

Suddenly, Hotch twisted his hand along with Reid's knee to the side, turning it sharply to the left. Spencer let out an agonized cry as tears of pain started flowing down his cheeks.

"There you go, Reid. Now you'll actually have a reason to use your cane," Aaron jeered as he let go of Reid's leg. He stood up and scowled at his simpering subordinate. "And I hope that every time you take a step you remember that it's your fucking fault that Haley died."

Spencer let out a sob as he tried to massage away the reawakened pain. He was in so much agony that he barely realized that his cell phone had been tossed onto the couch next to him.

"I'll see you at work on Monday," he called, walking out the apartment door.

The rattled genius didn't respond. He just sat on his couch rubbing his leg as saltwater tracked down his face.

In less than an hour a man that he had grown to love and admire had permanently shredded his confidence and betrayed his trust. He had no idea how he was going to show his face at work on Monday for a friendship that he once cherished was now nevermore.


	2. The Falcon

**Hi Friends!**

 **So, many of you requested that I continue on with this story. I thought about it for a long time and came up with a game plan that I hope will satisfy everyone. This isn't going to be a very long story - only one more chapter after this (we'll see...I always underestimate myself when it comes to pacing).**

 **Please forgive any mistakes...I really did try to weed out any errors but it's one in the morning so I'm sure a few of them got by me.**

 **Enjoy!**

* * *

A crashing rumble of thunder shook the genius's apartment as the storm outside his closed windows raged on. The shards of the navy blue coffee mug that Hotch had dropped vibrated across the tiled floor as the powerful sound waves rattled everything in the apartment, including the injured genius.

Reid, whom was writhing in pain against the couch cushion that supported his back, was thankful for the loud noise because it was covering up his pitiful whimpers and moans.

"Oh God," he whined with his eyes clenched shut as a particularly sharp streak of pain radiated up his body from his swollen joint. Slowly, he reached his shaking fingers down to his injury and probed the flesh in an effort to find a spot that he could massage. Unfortunately, even the feather light touch of the pads of his fingers felt like hammers against the sensitive skin. He quickly snatched his hands back and groaned through clenched teeth. He then started to push out short breaths of air through his pearly whites until the wave of pain that was assaulting his body passed.

Another booming roll of thunder permeated the genius's living room, prompting him to open his eyes and look around while he had a brief reprieve from the pain. "I-I need to get to my bed," he said to the empty room. "If I could just get in there and ice my knee, I'll be okay…right?"

Outside a particularly brilliant flash of lightning caused the lamps in his apartment to flare to life before they died all together, leaving the injured profiler alone in the dark.

"Please come back on. Please come back on," the profiler willed while his eyes darted back and forth in the pitch black, desperately searching for even a hint of radiance.

Nothing.

The power stubbornly remained off while the thunderstorm continued to roll through the streets of Reston, Virginia heedless of the nyctophobic genius that was helplessly stranded on his couch.

"Okay…okay, Spencer. You can do this. You don't need the light," he stated, trying to give himself a little pep talk. "You just need to get up and go to your bedroom. Then you can prop your leg up and use the flashlight in your nightstand for light. You can do this!"

The genius took a deep breath, steadying his mind in anticipation for the pain he was sure was about to follow. He placed his hands on either side of his body on the couch and pressed them down into the cushions. He tried to pull his body back in order to give himself some room with which to gently drop his foot from off the coffee table but even that little bit of movement sent severe spikes of pain racing through his body.

Try as he might he couldn't keep a distressed moan from escaping his lips. Eager to stop the pulsating stabs from assaulting his knee further, he quickly aborted his attempt at fleeing the couch. "Shit," he muttered uncharacteristically. "What now?" he asked no one, dropping his hands down against the fabric in frustration. Luckily, the cool touch of plastic greeted the fingers on his right hand, causing him to turn his head and look down.

His phone.

Shoving any thoughts of pain aside, Spencer grabbed the cellular device and flipped it open. He paused for only a moment before his thumb hit the number two, speed dialing his best friend, Derek Morgan.

* * *

The annoying chirping of his phone was not the sound Derek wanted to hear wanted to hear at one in the morning. He barely cracked open his umber eyes as he reached out his hand and pulled the device to his ear. Through his narrow slits he saw Reid's name shining brightly on the display.

Figuring that it wasn't a new case because then JJ or Hotch would have been calling, he answered it in a grumpy tone, "Kid, this better be good. I was having the best dream…," he trailed off, waiting for his buddy to explain the reason for his late night call.

"M-Morgan? Please…I need your help."

Hearing the quaver lacing Reid's voice, Morgan sat upright in bed. "Kid? What's going on? What's the matter?"

"I – uh….," the genius's explanation was cut off by agonized moan.

"Reid – Spencer, this isn't funny. Talk to me. What do you need?" the agent implored as he jumped out of his bed and started pulling on his favorite pair of jeans.

"It's my knee...I…oh God," he groaned.

"You hurt your leg again? Do you want me to call an ambulance?" Morgan offered, now fully dressed and rushing toward the door.

"What? No!" the younger man declined emphatically. "Can you – could you please come over and help me?"

"I'm already on my way. Give me about 20 minutes," he said. "Can you last that long?"

"Uh – yeah. I think so," came the weak reply.

"Do you want me to stay on the line?" he asked as he ran through the rain and jumped into his SUV.

"No…I can manage until you get here," Reid answered.

"Okay, if you're sure," Derek said warily as he put his keys into the ignition and started the vehicle.

He was just about to hang up when Reid's frail voice came down the line again. "Uh, Morgan. You're gonna have to use your key to get in…I-I'm not going to be able to answer the door. Do you still remember the code to the building?" the kid asked him with sharp intakes of breath scattered throughout his explanation.

"I've got it, kid. I'll be there soon," Morgan assured his friend, hanging up without saying goodbye.

* * *

The tires of his SUV squelched against the pavement as he backed out of his driveway and pulled into the street. The rain was finally beginning to let up, allowing him to keep his wipers on the lowest setting. The neighborhood around him was completely desolate; the houses were dark and there wasn't a car in sight. He didn't see any signs of life until he pulled up to his first traffic signal on his way out of the subdivision. Tempted to just break the law and run the light, he thankfully looked both ways and narrowly avoided T-boning a car that was turning left onto his street.

"Damn it," he growled at the sedan that cruised past him, deciding it was in his best interest to obey the law and get to Reid in one piece. "What have you gotten into this time, kid?" he mumbled to himself, taking off the second the light turned green.

"You better be okay, Pretty Boy?" he threatened as he narrowly streaked through a yellow light. "Your body can't take much more." Morgan's foot pressed down on the accelerator as he entered Reston's city limits, deciding that he'd just flash his badge if he was unlucky enough to get pulled over.

Thankfully, there wasn't a cop in sight as he sped through the city's deserted streets. Derek turned onto Reid's block and was forced to turn on his high-beams. "What the hell?" he groused, when he noticed that the whole city block was pitch black. "They fucking lost power," he commented, hitting his steering wheel with the palm of his hand. Deciding that he didn't want to make his best friend wait any longer, he pressed down on the gas pedal and zoomed down the street at an easy seventy miles an hour. Only a few moments passed before he was screeching to a halt; perfectly parked in a vacant handicapped spot in front of Reid's building.

The worried agent flew out of his car and up to the building. He punched in the code to unlock the outer entry and dashed up the stairs to his best friend's apartment. He halted in front of the door and whipped out his phone, pressing one of the buttons so that the screen lit up. He used the meager light to help him find the keyhole while he shouted through the wood, "Reid? It's me, Morgan. I'm coming in, kid."

No answer was forthcoming from the apartment, causing Derek's heartbeat to speed up. He quickly finished unlocking the door and threw open the barrier. Before him was a seemingly endless void. "Reid?" he called out. "Where are you, Pretty Boy?"

He stepped over the threshold and beckoned his friend again, "Reid? Answer me."

The profiler heard a hiss of air right before the genius responded pitifully, "H-Here. I'm here."

Morgan rushed over to the injured agent, making his way around the furniture by memory alone. He knelt down on the ground next to the edge of the couch and took in Spencer's shadowy appearance. His usually pale coworker looked even more sallow thanks to the random flashes of lightning still shining off in the distance. And his eyes were clenched shut as he took in stilted breaths of air through his pale pink lips. Morgan's eyes trailed down Reid's body and noticed that both of the kid's hands were clenching the cushions supporting him while his legs were propped up on the coffee table in front of him.

"Kid? Kid, are you alright?" he asked, knowing that it was a stupid question.

The younger man's tortured eyes opened wide after the stabbing ache subsided. He turned his head toward his friend's voice and said, "It's my knee."

"I know. I know. What do you want me to do?" Morgan asked frantically, wishing he had a light to chase away the shadows so he could get a look at Reid's injury.

Through clenched teeth Reid muttered, "Get me to my bedroom. It needs – I need to prop it up."

"Alright," Morgan agreed. He stood up and looked around for his friend's crutches. Unfortunately, he didn't see them. "Do you have a flashlight that I can use?" he asked, purposefully leaving out any comments about darkness they were surrounded by and the genius's deep-seated fear of it.

"There's one in the junk drawer in the kitchen."

"Okay, sit tight. I'll be right back," he ordered before he jumped up and used his phone to guide him into the kitchen.

The crunch of something under his feet momentarily distracted him when he got into the other room. He shined the faint light down on the floor and saw the pieces of a broken mug. Figuring that his friend probably dropped it earlier and couldn't bend down to clean it up, he kept moving and decided that he'd pick it up before he left.

Derek made his way over to the counter and called out to Reid, "Is it still the drawer underneath the microwave?"

A nearly indiscernible, "Yeah," was the only response.

The drawer was a complete mess. He had to shuffle around all sorts of random objects before he uncovered the sought after light beneath a stack of take-out menus.

"Got it," he announced, flicking it on and shining the light around the room in triumph.

The beam glanced off of the appliances and, strangely enough, a full mug of coffee and a bottle of Johnnie Walker Blue. The curious profiler was about to ask Reid if he had a visitor over earlier but decided to file the information away until later. Instead, he continued to point the flashlight around the kitchen and stopped again when it reflected off of a crutch. Confused, Derek looked all around for the other one but he never found it. So, he grabbed the one he did see from its resting place and walked back into the living room.

"Hey, I found one of your crutches in the kitchen. Where's the other one?" he inquired as he propped the one he had in his hand against the couch next to Reid.

Derek saw a flash of fear glide across Spencer's features before he answered. "It's uh…it's over there by the bookshelf," the genius told him, feebly gesturing with his hand.

"Why is it – uh, nevermind," Derek muttered, shelving his question. He quickly walked over to the crutch and picked it up from the floor. He brought it back and put it next to its partner. "Okay, you ready for this?"

Spencer gulped down a breath of air. "I guess it's now or never."

Morgan nodded, even though he knew the other agent probably couldn't see him in the dark. "Alright…uh…how do you want to do this?"

The injured profiler cleared his throat and tried to sit up straighter. "Um…I-I…uh guess that…um, I could try the crutches."

"You sure?"

"Uh, yeah. Let's try that first."

Derek reached over to the medical implements and passed them to his friend. Reid placed them on either side of his body and then looked up at his friend. "You're going to have to help me up first."

"Oh, yeah…I knew that," Morgan said in a rush. Awkwardly, he stepped next to Spencer's left side and grabbed the boy's arm. "Brace your right foot on the ground."

The younger man followed the instruction.

"Alright. On the count of three, I'm going to pull you up and you're gonna want to put all of your weight on your good leg. I'll be here to help support you if you can't. When you're steady I'll pass you the crutches. Okay?"

"Got it," Spencer stated, his lack of confidence clear in his voice.

Derek placed one hand underneath Reid's left armpit and the other around his bicep. "One…two…three!"

The two men didn't even get the genius two inches off the couch when Spencer collapsed back down, crying out in agony. Panting in pain, he churned out, "I-I can't…Morgan, I can't."

The muscular agent immediately released his grip on his friend and shined his flashlight over the agent's injury. He sucked a sharp breath in through his teeth, shocked at the sight. "Damn it, Reid! You didn't tell me your knee was this bad."

The genius didn't respond as he vigorously tried to massage away the pain.

Derek stepped around to the kid's left side and crouched down, analyzing the boy's injury up close. "Kid…your knee is the size of a coconut," he stated in awe. "Damn it! Why didn't you say something?" he demanded while inside he was scolding himself for not looking at it before now. Seriously, he really should have known to check it out for himself because Reid was notorious for downplaying his injuries.

"I-I didn't know," Reid responded pathetically.

"We could have made it worse!" he exclaimed, rubbing his bald head in frustration with his free hand. "Look, I'm calling an ambulance. You need to have a doctor look at this."

"Morgan, no!" Reid cried out.

"Yes, Reid. You know as well as I do that putting your knee up on your bed and icing it isn't going to help anything," Morgan retorted, pulling his phone out of his pocket.

"Fine! You're right. I know that I need to see a doctor…but could we forgo the ambulance…please?"

"Why?"

Annoyed, Reid flung his upper body back into the couch cushions and crossed his arms like a petulant child, "Because if you help me I'm sure I can make it down to your car. Besides, I don't want to draw away the EMTs from people that might really need their help."

Knowing that Reid was just trying to get out of another ride in an ambulance, Morgan decided to acquiesce. "Alright, I'll try to get you down to my SUV but only on one condition…"

"Which is…"

"You will let me carry you – especially down the stairs," Morgan said seriously, his tone hard and unmoving.

"Morgan…," Spencer moaned.

"I'm not budging on this, Reid. If you want to ride in my car then you are going to do this my way," he stated, crossing his arms in front of his chest. "I'm not letting you mess up your knee even more by trying to go down those stairs on a pair of crutches."

"Fine."

"Fine?"

Huffing, Spencer said, "Yes, fine. Fine - you can carry me down to your car like a little _kid_. Does that make you happy?"

Morgan rolled his eyes. "I'm just trying to help you, Reid."

Spencer didn't respond. Instead he just tipped his chin down toward his chest and sucked in a breath of air. After a few seconds, he let the air back out and said, "Can you grab my brace over there on the floor?"

The bright beam sailed across the rug and stopped on the large brace that was resting on the ground on the other side of the couch. "Why did you throw it over there?"

"Can you just pick it up?" Reid asked, avoiding the question.

Derek grunted and grabbed the brace. He brought it back over to his friend and asked, "Do you want me to help?"

"Uh…yeah. I don't think I can do it on my own."

"Okay, just stop me if it hurts too much," Morgan requested as he pulled down Spencer's pajama pant leg. He then opened the devise up wide and started to gently place it on top of Reid's injured leg.

Spencer clenched his teeth and held in all of the whimpers that were begging to be set free. He watched through narrow eyes as the other agent adjusted the straps around his shin and thigh, pulling them tightly so that the brace wouldn't budge on their upcoming journey.

"Alright. I'm done. It's a good thing this one is open around the knee or else I don't think you would've fit into it," Morgan commented as he stood up and looked down on his friend. "So…you ready for this?"

"No," Reid answered truthfully.

"Well, ready or not, we need to get going." Morgan didn't give the genius any more time to dwell on what was about to happen. He just squatted down next to his friend and wove one hand around Reid's back and tucked the other underneath his thighs, purposefully avoiding the knees. "Brace yourself…this isn't going to feel good."

Knowing the remark was a vast understatement, Spencer squeezed his eyes together and took a deep breath. Seconds later he felt streaks of pain rolling through his leg. Groaning in distress, he burrowed his head into Morgan's chest.

"You alright, Kid?"

"J-Just keep going!"

Wordlessly, Morgan shuffled his load over to the door. On his way out he saw Reid's wallet sitting on a table next to the genius's car keys. Magically, he finagled his body so that he could bend down slightly and snatch it in the hand that was supporting Spencer's back. "Your insurance card in here?"

"What?"

"Is your insurance card in your wallet?"

"Uh…yeah."

"Good…alrighty…here we go," he warned before using the same hand to open the door and start their harrowing journey down two flights of stairs.

* * *

The trip out to Morgan's SUV seemed to take hours. The muscular agent did his best to take the stairs as slowly and softly as possible but it didn't matter. Each step down jostled Reid's abused body, sending spikes of pain coursing through his leg. Spencer did his best to keep all of his moans and groans locked inside but he knew that Derek could sense his agony anyways.

Thankfully, the ride to the hospital wasn't too bad. Morgan stuck to streets that were relatively smooth and pothole free; he also made sure that Reid sat in the back, so he could stretch his long lanky body out across the bench seat. And, like a true friend, the older profiler allowed the genius to ride in silence, holding back on asking all of the questions that were bouncing around in his head.

Because the genius refused to be carried into the hospital by his friend, the duo ended up hobbling into the ER's empty waiting room. Morgan led his coworker over to one of the large chairs and helped him sit down. "Stay here. I'm going to go sign you in," he told Reid. He then walked up to the window and flashed his badge at the receptionist. Derek explained to her that Spencer had reinjured an old wound that he had garnered trying to protect a civilian. The nurse was very understanding and in less than five minutes the younger man was being helped into a wheelchair and taken back to a bed.

* * *

It was around four in the morning when a different nurse came into the waiting room calling out, "Spencer Reid?"

Morgan jerked awake from the little catnap that he had been taking, stood up and straightened his shirt. "Uh-here. How is he?"

"I'm not at liberty to say…but I'm sure he will fill you in when you get to his room," she chirped in a voice that was way too perky for the early morning hour.

"Wait…room? Are you guys keeping him?" he asked, stopping abruptly in the center of the stringent hallway.

"No. Dr. Reid is waiting for his discharge papers. He'll be ready to go within the next ten to fifteen minutes," she informed him, stopping outside of a door labeled E1. She lifted her fist and knocked on the wood before pushing it open. "Dr. Reid, your friend is here. I'll be back with your papers as soon as they're ready." The energetic nurse didn't wait for a response; she just waved the profiler into the room and walked away.

"Hey Kid," Morgan said as he entered the room and shut the door behind him.

"Hey," came the man's faint response.

"So, what happened? What did they say?" he queried as he walked over to the Spencer's bed.

"Uh…they said…," the agent's voice trailed off, his shaky fingers plucking at the bulky new brace that was encompassing his leg.

"They said…"

Realizing that his friend was waiting for an answer, Spencer shook his head back and forth in order to clear his thoughts. "The…the doctor said that…," Spencer paused and swallowed. "He said that I-I tore apart the muscles that had finally knitted back together. I ruined any progress that I had made over the last few months and now I'm back to square one."

"Oh, Pretty Boy – ," Derek started to express his condolences but was interrupted by the other man.

"That's not all," Spencer went on, his voice catching on the word 'all.'

Derek walked up to the head of Reid's bed and laid his hand on the boy's bony shoulder, lending the younger profiler his silent support.

Reid cleared his throat. "Um…h-he said that because I damaged muscles that were already healing and uh…scarring…that they might not join together as smoothly this time…and – uh…well…"

"Well?" Morgan echoed, fearful of what he was going to hear next.

"Well…if they don't…," Spencer paused again; it was almost as if he needed a second to bolster his courage to make a profound confession. "If they don't heal right then I may never walk unassisted again."

Once the words left the younger man's mouth it was like the levees holding in his emotions broke apart. A sudden flood or tears started to course down the boy's face followed closely by gut-wrenching sobs.

Morgan instantly gathered Reid's upper body in his arms and gave him a giant hug. He allowed his friend to bury his tearstained face into his shirt while he murmured assurances into his hair.

The two men stayed locked together until Reid ran out of tears. Once his well had dried up and he was able to get his breathing back under control he broke out of the embrace. Shyly, he said a quiet, "Thanks."

"Anytime, Kid," Derek said, sitting down in the empty chair by the bed. The older agent then reached over to the bedside table and grabbed the tissue box. He plucked a few of the Kleenexes out of the package and handed them off to his friend.

Reid gave him a small smile and thanked him once again.

Morgan watched as Spencer dabbed the corners of his eyes and dried his face. He just couldn't believe that his Pretty Boy was going to have to go through months of intensive rehab again. And what made matters worse was that it might not even help him become whole. The profiler shook his head in dismay; he just couldn't picture going out in the field without Spencer by his side ever again. He couldn't help but wonder how in the world this could have happened.

Suddenly, details of the night that he had pushed to the back of his mind flashed to the forefront.

The broken mug on the kitchen floor.

The full glass of coffee and the bottle of expensive whisky abandoned on the counter.

The knee brace lying on the floor out of Spencer's reach.

The crutch that had been left in front of the bookcase behind the couch.

Derek furrowed his brow and shifted in his seat. He looked up at his coworker, who was still trying to regain his usual cool composure. "Spencer," he said gently as if he was trying not to scare off a skittish cat.

The genius turned to face him, "Hmm?"

"I need to ask you something…something important."

The young man furrowed his brow. "Okay."

"Spencer…who hurt you?"

A look of panic spread across Reid's features. He immediately broke eye contact and looked down at his lap. "W-What?"

"Kid, don't play dumb with me. I saw all the signs scattered around your apartment," Derek said matter-of-factly. "Now, who came to your apartment tonight and messed you up?"

"Uh…I-I…I can't tell you," he said meekly.

"Why not?" Derek asked forcefully.

Spencer was trembling now; his whole body was shaking in fear. "I-I can't b-because it will change everything."

"What do you mean? Spencer, who was it?"

"Derek, please…"

"No! Look, you are a member of my family and I'll be damned if I'll let the asshole that hurt you walk around without any punishment. Now tell me so we can bring the son of a bitch to justice," Derek ordered brusquely.

Spencer's eyes squeeze into tearstained slits. "Derek, you don't understand."

"Then tell me. Explain to me what I need to know," he pleaded.

"Derek…"

Seeing that his commanding voice wasn't getting him anywhere, Derek softened his tone. "Please Spencer…let me help you."

The genius felt his defenses break with Derek's heartfelt plea. He looked up and allowed his honey brown eyes to meet Derek's chocolate ones straight on, "It was Hotch."

* * *

 **This chapter is titled "The Falcon" because according to an article about bird symbolism on buzzle dot com a falcon can represent a protector or help coming to your aid. I thought it was a fitting match for what Derek represents in this section.**


	3. The Owl

**Hi Friends!**

 **Um, wow...I cannot thank you enough for the response to the last chapter. I am so flattered and humbled by your kind words. I'm really glad you all like the story so far...and I say so far because like usual, I'm going to have to push this story another chapter. My muse decided that David Rossi needed to make an appearance and he just kinda took over the whole chapter...sorry!**

 **Thanks again for all the comments, follows and favorites! You all really made my day(s).**

 **Please forgive any mistakes.**

 **Enjoy!**

* * *

Aaron woke up suddenly to the sound of metal gate grating against its track and a harsh voice calling out, "Agent Hotcher. Agent Hotchner, your ride is here. Time to go."

The unit chief cracked open his bloodshot eyes and turned his head against the hardwood bench that he was resting on top of, "What?"

A police officer wearing a blue uniform with a tag that said "Blevins" stepped into the holding cell and towered over the prone agent. "Your ride finally got here. You are free to go."

Hotch started sit up but immediately dropped back down when his stomach churned in protest while razor sharp knives stabbed into his skull. "Uhhhh," he moaned, "Where am I? What happened?"

The officer smirked and crossed his hands in front of his chest. "You don't know? I guess you really were three sheets to the wind last night."

The hungover agent swallowed down the bile that was threatening to rise and forced himself to get up off the bench. He placed his shaky legs down on the ground and used the wall to help himself stand. Once he was steady he rubbed his temples with his right hand and said sluggishly, "No, I really don't remember."

With a chuckle, Officer Blevins stepped back and waved Hotch out of the cell. "You were picked up last night by some of my men at outside of The Oak Tavern. Apparently you were sitting on one of the benches on the sidewalk, harassing the people that were walking by you. At one point you grabbed some blonde woman and yelled at her. You told her she needed to go into hiding – that someone was trying to kill her. Then you apparently flashed your gun at the girl and told her that you would protect her. Needless to say, you scared the shit out of her and her friends. They called the police…and, well, you know the rest."

Hotch shook his head, an action he immediately regretted. "Not really. I don't remember drinking that much. I don't remember accosting anyone. And I certainly don't remember being arrested. I-I remember…nothing," he stated in shame. The austere agent had never gotten blackout drunk before and it scared him to think of how out of control he might have been last night.

"Well, you were pretty shitfaced when they picked you up. Thankfully, you didn't try to resist, especially since you were packing two guns. That could have gotten way out of hand…," the man trailed off as he directed the FBI agent around the corner.

Blevins then led him over to his office, ushered him inside but left the door open. The officer strolled around his desk and took a seat, motioning for Hotch to join him. After awkwardly scoping out the room the unit chief slowly walked over to one of the spare leather chairs and lowered his aching frame into it. He then glanced at the desk and saw that the cop's nameplate read "Captain Blevins." Wrinkles developed on Aaron's brow as he wracked his brain trying to reel in the memory that was swimming just below the surface of his mind.

Unable to catch the slippery fish of a recollection, Hotch cleared his throat and started to ask, "Ah…Captain, have we – "

"Met before?" the man cut him off. He then chuckled and said, "I was wondering if you were going to remember me. I was just a Sergeant the last time you were in this place. So yeah, we've met before. Shit, I think it was a good three years back that you and your team stormed through our doors intent on helping us apprehend that psycho that was killing off all those abortion clinic workers."

"So you know who I am?" Hotch asked though the answer was obvious.

The captain laughed again, "Sure as shit. You were such a hard ass. There was one point during that case that I was pretty sure you were going to tear me a new one because one of my charges had accidentally misplaced some evidence." The man's face turned into a glower at the memory.

Uncomfortable with the road that the officer was headed down, Hotch tried to change the subject. "What am I being charged with?"

Raising his brow, Captain Blevins looked at the agent and said, "Nothing."

"Nothing? I don't understand," Hotch stated in confusion.

"Look, I'll say this, you can be quite a cocksucker to work under," he paused, sneering at the unit chief, "but you get the job done. If it hadn't been for you and your team I don't know if we would have ever caught the…uh, what is the word you guys use again?"

"Unsub."

"Yeah, I don't know if we would have ever caught that bastard without you guys."

"We were just doing our job," Hotch stated sternly; he wasn't really up for a walk down memory lane.

"Right…well, when I saw that it was you last night, I decided to give you the benefit of the doubt. I mean, I figured that you must have gone through some rough shit in order to drink yourself that much into oblivion. So, I rifled through the case notes and managed to find some of your team's contact numbers," Captain Blevins explained pragmatically. "When I finally got ahold of your teammate he told me about your wife's – uh, he told me about all the shit that you've been going through lately, and that solidified my decision to let you slide. Just this once, mind you."

The officer's revelation caused Aaron's stomach to drop like a lead balloon, causing him to uncharacteristically stutter, "W-Who did you c-call?"

The man leaned back in his chair and tented his fingers. "Well, seeing as how I'm a huge fan of his books and I didn't get a chance to talk to him the first time you guys were here, I called David Rossi."

Hotch let out a huge breath of air, relieved that the man didn't call any of the other agents – though, he was internally cringing at the thought of Rossi bailing him out of one of the most embarrassing moments of his life. "You said he was here."

"What?"

"Earlier when you woke me up, you said that my ride had arrived," Hotch stated.

"I did."

"Well, where is he?" Hotch asked impatiently.

"Anxious to see me, Aaron?" came Rossi's smooth voice from the doorway behind him. Hotch twisted his frame around in the chair and saw the grizzled Italian holding a Styrofoam mug of coffee snugly in his hand. He was dressed impeccably for seven in the morning, wearing all of his favorite designer clothes along with his trademark smirk. "Because I couldn't wait to come and see you."

The only sign that Hotch gave off that he was annoyed by Dave's smug statement was a twitching of his eyebrows. "I'm just ready to go home."

"I'm sure you are," he said before taking a leisurely sip of coffee. "Are we all set here, Captain Blevins?"

The officer stood up from his seat and gave Rossi a forced smile. "Yes, Agent Rossi. I just got finished explaining to Agent Hotchner that I never want to see him in here again – unless it's case related, of course."

"Excellent," Dave declared, walking forward and clapping Hotch on the back. "Now, I'm going to whisk this young scamp away from your precinct before he gets into any more trouble. Thank you for all your help. And please, feel free to call me anytime you want to discuss a few cases over a cup of coffee."

"Will do," Blevins said, reaching out to shake the famous profiler's free hand. He then turned toward Hotch and extended his arm.

The unit chief amicably shook hands with the captain. "Thank you. I assure you that this won't ever happen again."

Captain Blevins gave Hotch a strained smile. "Just take care of yourself and your – uh – your son. That will be thanks enough."

With a silent nod, Aaron turned around and walked out the door. Behind him he could hear Rossi saying something else to the officer, but he didn't stop to hear what it was. Instead, he made a beeline for the doors and walked out into the cool Virginia morning.

He stood on the steps in front of the building for a few minutes, breathing in the fresh air in an effort to try to clear his throbbing head. He was in the middle of vigorously rubbing his head when he heard the station doors whisk open.

"I'd ask how your night was, but according to Captain Blevins you don't remember a lick of it," Rossi said wryly as he walked up next to his friend.

"Dave…don't start," Aaron ordered firmly.

"You don't scare me, Aaron," Dave stated. "Besides, I think I've earned the right to harass you a little…seeing as I was called in the middle of the night to come and pick your drunk ass up from the police station."

An aggravated growl escaped Hotch's lips. Suddenly, a heavy plastic bag was thrown into his hands.

"Here. You were in such a hurry to get out of there that you left all of your stuff behind. I don't think the F.B.I. would look too kindly on your reason for needing a new badge. Now get your hungover ass in my car," the Italian commanded in a no-nonsense tone.

Aaron opened the passenger door of Dave's Maserati sedan and slid his body fluidly into the black leather seat. He automatically secured his seatbelt before leaning his head back into cushioned headrest. His eyes closed the second his head hit the fabric and he let out an exasperated sigh.

"Don't get too comfortable. You've got a lot of explaining to do," Dave barked as he started the engine and put the car in reverse.

"Can't you just mind your own business, Dave?"

"Sure…the thing is, this became my business the second I got that phone call to come and get you," he replied.

Hotch let out a rumble from deep in his throat. "Fine. There isn't much to tell anyways. I had a few drinks last night and woke up in the cell this morning."

Rossi took a minute to process Aaron's concise tale as he took the car down a side street. At the traffic light he glanced over at his passenger and observed his pinched face and pained grimace. "You really don't remember anything?"

"Nothing," Hotch said shortly.

"Have you even tried to remember?"

"No. And honestly, I'd rather forget that this happened anyways."

Rossi accelerated through the intersection once the light turned green and allowed the conversation to lapse for a few minutes. Unfortunately for Hotch, though, the older man couldn't get rid of the questions niggling at his brain.

"What I don't understand is why you were at The Oak Tavern. I mean, it's clear on the other side of town from your apartment. There are plenty of bars near your place. Did you go out with Reid? He lives right down the street from that place," Rossi pondered out loud.

Reid.

The younger profiler's name sent ice cold shivers down the unit chief's spine.

With a quick look to his right, Rossi saw Hotch's perplexed face. "What is it, Aaron?"

"…I…I don't know…"

"Well, is it Reid? Did you two share a few drinks last night? Do I need to call him to see if he got home safe?"

Home.

Reid's home.

And just like that, Hotch's memory of the prior night was pieced back together with startling clarity.

Every scathing word he said, every insult, and every action all played out in his mind, reminding him of what a bastard he had been to the younger agent.

"Oh God...," he moaned, clutching his stomach. "Dave, pull over."

"What?"

"Pull over now!"

Realizing that his friend was about to be sick, the older man veered the car off onto the gravel shoulder of the road. Hotch swiftly unfastened his seat belt and threw the car door open the second the vehicle came to a stop. He leaned over the frame and heaved up whatever had been left inside his stomach.

After a few minutes of coughing and spitting, the stern man sat back up and wiped his mouth using his shirt sleeve.

"Feel better?" Rossi asked dryly. "None of that got in my car, did it?"

Hotch ignored Rossi's insensitive question. Instead he brought his hands up and cradled his head in them. "What have I done?" he whispered to himself louder than he thought.

"Aaron…what's wrong?" Dave inquired, concerned by Hotch's atypical statement of remorse.

Aaron's broad fingers trailed down his cheeks before his hands landed in his lap. He focused his gaze on them, bringing them up one at a time to inspect them like the weapons they were.

"I remember."

"You remember last night?"

"Yes."

"And that made you sick?"

Aaron closed his eyes in shame.

Rossi pondered his response. "...Aaron, what did you do?"

The unit chief turned his head and stared out the window. He knew that he had to tell Rossi what happened last night, but he was loath to state his reprehensible behavior out loud. "I...I went to see Reid."

"And?"

"I…"

"You…?"

"I destroyed our friendship."

* * *

Dave sat and listened in utter silence to Hotch's recitation of the debacle that occurred last night. At some point in the story he ended up curling his fingers around the steering wheel in anger; for he didn't trust himself not to haul off and strike his remorseful friend.

"...after that I went back to the bar to have another drink…"

Rossi clenched his hands around the supple leather, causing a squeaking noise to fill the car.

"Dave...say something," Aaron pleaded when the silence in the car stretched on too long after he had finished.

"Say something? _Say something!?_ " Rossi roared, his anger ignited by Hotch's pitiful plea. "Aaron, I'm doing my best not to reach over there and smack the shit out of you right now and you want me to say something?"

"Well...yes…"

"Alright! If you're so desperate to hear what I think, here we go. For starters, are you that desperate to follow in your father's footsteps that you're willing to turn to liquor in order to hide from your problems?"

Hotch immediately started to argue but Rossi pushed on heedless of the man's protests. "I mean I was going to talk to you about this anyways, but I was at least going to wait until you sobered up...but now you don't get that luxury."

"I am not going to become my father," Aaron growled, insulted by his friend's insinuation. "I would never hurt Jack!"

"No? Because from where I'm sitting you aren't that far off from it."

"Now just a second, Dave -"

"No, Aaron. _You_ showed up at Spencer's home last night as drunk as a dry-docked sailor and proceeded to verbally and physically assault him. And _you_ actually blamed him for getting your wife killed," he state bluntly, refusing to sugarcoat what happened the previous night. "If _you_ are capable of doing that to a friend and co-worker than _you_ are capable of doing it to your son."

"I would never - " he started to protest again.

"Hurt Reid? Blame him for Haley's death? Tell him he's a self-centered little kid? Fucking twist his leg so hard he won't be able to walk?" Rossi asked. "Because you did!"

The chastised man hung his head in defeat. "...I did.."

"You did…"

The unit chief blinked his burning eyes, "So what do I do now?"

"Now? Now I'm going to take you home so you can clean yourself up. You might want to take a shower and get some food in your stomach. Then I would suggest getting online and finding some support groups or making an appointment with a therapist. A ton of shit has happened to you lately, Aaron, and you're not dealing with it. I think last night was your wake-up call...as horrible as it was...it's time for you to start learning healthy ways to cope with Haley's death and your involvement in it."

"What do you suggest I do about Reid?"

"...that I don't know," Rossi said sadly. "The kid struggles with being close to anyone and after all these years you were one of the few people to earn his trust. Last night you just blew it all away. If it was anyone else I'd tell you to grovel at their feet and beg for forgiveness but we both know that won't work with Reid. Fuck, Aaron, any of us will be lucky if he still trusts us after this. What you did last night was so vile...so dreadful...hell, I'm having a hard time even sitting in the same car as you. I don't know if there is anything you can do to make this better. And I would fully support Reid if he decides to never forgive you...because even though I know what has happened to you and what you're going through I don't think I can forgive you either. Can I still be your friend and help you through this dark time in your life? Yes. But I can't ignore your actions against a man I admire and respect like Reid. A man that would have done anything, including laying down his life, for you."

The angered Italian didn't wait for his co-worker's response before throwing the car into gear and pulling back out onto the road. The remainder of the ride was noiseless as the man tried to stifle his fury at his friend.

The car pulled to a stop in front of the doors to Hotch's apartment complex. Aaron reached for the door handle and opened it. He slowly extracted himself from the car while Rossi sat staring out the windshield, ignoring his passenger's departure. Neither man made a move to say goodbye, knowing that the verbal pleasantry was inappropriate in light of their current situation.

The guilt-ridden profiler was about to shut the door when he thought better of it. Instead he leaned down and peeked into the vehicle, "Could you do me a favor?"

Rossi scoffed but answered, "I'm listening."

"Could you please go check up on Reid and let me know how he's doing?" Aaron asked. "I-I know that he wouldn't take to kindly to me showing up at his door again but I need to know if he's okay."

Dave mumbled something under his breath that Hotch couldn't quite make out but turned and said, "I already planned on going to see the kid the moment your sorry ass got out of my car. And as for letting you know how he's doing…well, that's up to Reid whether he wants me to relay that information or not. The only thing I'll do is let you know if he's alive, and I honestly don't even think you deserve to know that."

Hotch went to close the door but Rossi called out again. "Oh, and Aaron…when you go up there make sure that the first thing you do is dump your friends down the drain. We both know that there is probably no way that you'll ever be able to make things right between you and Reid, but if you hope to have any chance at moving forward you need to get rid of that shit as soon as possible. And if you can't do it for Spencer, then do it for Jack. He doesn't deserve a daddy that's more focused on the bottle than he is on his son."

The grim agent briefly nodded and slammed the door, barely standing erect before the foreign car zoomed off down the street on its important mission.

* * *

The Maserati screeched to a halt in a vacant handicap spot in front of Reid's residence. The older man rushed out of his car and knocked on the leasing office's door. When the proprietor of the building answered, Rossi flashed his badge and muscled his way over to the stairs. He took them two at a time all the way up to Reid's floor. Once he reached his younger co-worker's door he hammered on it with his fist. "Reid! Reid! Are you in there?! Are you alright?"

He paused his frantic pounding, listening for any type of response. He then pulled out his phone and tried calling the boy. He put his ear to the door and strained to hear the chirp of Reid's cellphone going off but the only thing he could make out was silence. When the call went to voicemail, he started beating on the door again, calling out to his friend while simultaneously praying that the boy was okay.

After about three long minutes of trying to rouse the apartment's occupant he ran back down stairs and ordered the man to open up Spencer's flat for him. At first the man resisted, saying that he couldn't legally do it without seeing a warrant, but Rossi's smooth talking convinced the manager that one of his favorite tenants could be in trouble.

Together, the two men went back upstairs and the man unlocked the genius's door. The second the barrier swung open Rossi rushed in and ran from room to room calling out for his friend. After a quick search of the dwelling he found it empty, a fact that worried the old man when he looked around and saw the evidence of Hotch's late night visit.

Not knowing what else to do, Dave grabbed his phone and called Morgan.

"Morgan," the agent stated when he answered the call.

"Derek, I need your help," Dave demanded.

The older man could sense Morgan's hesitance. "Uh…Rossi, this isn't a good time."

"Well make it a good time. I need your help finding Reid – he's missing," he explained as he left the boy's apartment and went back out to his car.

"What?"

"Look, I can't go into all the details but something bad happened to Reid last night and I need your help finding him," Dave said, sliding into his leather seats and starting the vehicle.

He was about to put the car in reverse when Morgan said viciously, "How do you know about that?"

"Wait," Rossi said, his brow furrowing in confusion, "what do you mean, how do I know about that?"

"How do you know that something bad happened to Reid last night?" Morgan repeated, his voice thick with suspicion.

"I…was told about it," he stated elusively.

"By who?"

"Morgan…do you know what happened to Reid? Do you know where he is?" Dave said, trying to garner more information.

"Yes."

"So you know about…his…late night visitor?"

"Yes," Morgan repeated. "Now, I want to know how you know."

"Aaron told me."

"When?"

"About a half hour ago, when I dropped him off at his apartment," Rossi told him.

Dave heard his fellow profiler growl down the line. "I take it he's okay then," Derek snarled.

"Depends on your definition of okay," Rossi countered. "Look, I need to see Reid. I want to make sure he's alright. Can you tell me where to find him?"

"That depends…," Morgan said.

"On what?"

"Are you going to run back to Hotch and report your findings?"

Finally understanding why Morgan was being so selfish with his information, Rossi barked, "Hell no! I'm just as mad at him as you are. There's no way that I'm telling that man any details about Reid's condition. I told him as much before I sped off and left him standing on the curb outside of his flat."

Seemingly convinced that the older man was telling the truth, Morgan sighed and said, "Hold on."

Rossi heard the other agent muffle the phone with his hand before he murmured a few words to someone else. There was a brief pause, during which the other person must have been answering, before Derek's husky voice came back and said, "Alright…Reid's here with me at my house. I'll leave the door unlocked. We're in the living room."

"Thanks, I'll be there soon. And don't worry Derek, I won't press the kid into talking about what happened," Dave said, finally pulling out of his spot. "Hotch told me everything anyways…"

"Sure he did," Morgan said tersely.

Rossi could tell that the other man wanted to say more but the protective profiler just hung up instead. Dave flung his phone down after that and concentrated on the road, allowing the tires to eat up the asphalt as they led him to his fellow agents.

* * *

 **So, like before I named this chapter "The Owl" because David Rossi embodied many of the characteristics that the bird symbolizes according to the website www dot spiritanimialinfo dot com. Word for word from the site:**

Symbolic meanings for the owl are:

Intuition, ability to see what others do not see

The presence of the owl announces change

Capacity to see beyond deceit and masks

Wisdom

The traditional meaning of the owl spirit animal is the announcer of death, most likely symbolic like a life transition, change

 **Up next, I promise, is the moment you've all been waiting for - Hotch and Reid finally meet again.**


	4. The Phoenix

**Hi Friends!**

 **Wow! Thanks so much for all of your reviews! I am overwhelmed and super flattered that everyone seems to enjoy this story so much!**

 **I do need to let you know that this is the final chapter of the story. I completely agree that there is so much more that I could explore - that I could get into how each man heals from this traumatic event, but that angle was never my purpose. I think (hope) that this chapter will give you the closure you need and if not then I am truly sorry.**

 **Please forgive any mistakes - I swear, like Pokemon, I tried to catch them all!**

 **Enjoy!**

* * *

Spencer was propped up on Derek's couch with his injured leg stretched out across the cushions when Rossi came rushing through the door. The genius, who had been resting his eyes, kept them closed. Instead only his ears were greeted with the older man's gruff curse and concerned question, "Figlio di puttana! How bad is it?"

Desperate to avoid having to voice out loud the reality he may soon have to face, the injured profiler continued to feign sleep. Off to his side he heard Morgan stand up and walk over to Rossi. He could feel the weight of their gazes through his closed eyelids and shifted around a little to keep up his charade.

"It ain't good," Morgan said solemnly.

"That brace is larger than before," Rossi commented upon noticing that the devise started at Reid's upper thigh and extended all the way down to his foot, keeping the man's whole leg basically immobile. "Isn't it?"

Reid heard Morgan sigh and knew that his friend was trying to keep his composure. "Yeah. It is. And the kid should actually be in a wheelchair but he pitched a huge fit until the doctor relented and settled on giving him that monstrosity of a brace."

"Damn…"

Derek nodded, "Yeah…"

"So what was the diagnosis?" Rossi pried.

"We don't know the full extent of the damage yet. He's gotta go see his regular doctor Monday afternoon. But what the E.R. doctor did tell us is that Hotch twisted his leg so much that it rip apart the muscles again – destroying all the progress he had made so far. He's back on crutches for the foreseeable future," Morgan explained heatedly.

"How did he take it?"

Reid picked up on the sour laugh that Morgan choked out. "Well, I wasn't finished…"

"What?"

"Yeah, the icing on the cake is that due to the fact that he reinjured his old wound it's going to be harder for them to mend this time – what with all the scar tissue that needs to be knitted back together and stuff. So he won't know for sure until talking with his doctor tomorrow, but it's entirely possible that he'll never be able to walk unassisted again," Morgan said bitterly, spitting out each word like it was poison. "So how do you think he took it?"

"God damn it, Hotch…," Rossi muttered. "I can't believe he did this…"

Reid heard Morgan's sharp intake of breath following Dave's statement. "Really? So, what did Hotch have to say for himself?"

The floor creaked as, Reid assumed, the man walked over and sat in Morgan's vacant seat. "He – uh – he expressed deep remorse for what he did."

Derek scoffed. "Remorse? He better be feeling alot more than remorse after what he did," he said vehemently. "And I'll make sure he does next time I see him."

Spencer popped his eyelids open as he shoved his upper body up in reaction to Morgan's comment, "No, Derek. You won't!"

The muscular agent threw up his hands and glowered at his friend, "Why shouldn't I?"

"Because I told you, this isn't your battle – it's mine. I'll fight it my own way," Reid huffed, exasperated that he had to have this conversation with his best friend again.

"Yeah, but your way, Pretty Boy, doesn't involve giving Hotch a taste of his own medicine," Morgan said viciously. "It's time he tried picking on someone his own size."

Derek's obvious disregard toward Spencer's ability to protect himself lit a fire in the genius's gut. "Are you saying that had you been in my situation, with my injury, that you would have fared better because of your stature? Are you seriously insinuating that I can't protect myself?" Reid questioned heatedly.

Realizing his faux pas, Morgan tried to backpedal, "No – th-that's not what I was saying –"

"Because I'll have you know that I've gone up against tougher people than Hotch before and I came out on the other side just fine. The only reason he was able to get such a good drop on me was because I trusted him. He – he was my friend. I would have never imagined that…," the profiler paused, his words losing their heat, "that someone I cared for would do this to me…"

"He can't believe he did it either, Reid," Rossi interjected after a single tear tracked down the boy's cheek.

Reid broke the stare down he was having with Derek and glanced at Rossi with wide eyes. "What?" he asked shakily.

Before Dave could explain, Derek exploded, "Rossi, you're seriously not defending him, are you?"

"No – no, not at all. I told you earlier, I'm just as mad as the rest of you. All I'm doing is telling you what I learned from Hotch this morning," the Italian clarified.

"And you want us to think he…he – God, I don't even know. I mean - are you saying that he – forgot what he did to Reid?" Morgan threw out, his mind whirling around so fast that he could barely string together a coherent sentence.

"Yes, and I believed him," Rossi said honestly.

Spencer could tell that Morgan was about to take off Dave's head for his admission, so he swiftly intervened, "Why? Why did you believe him?"

Dave turned away from the irate profiler and directed his words toward Reid. "Because when I picked him up this morning from the police station he truly did not remember a lick of what occurred last night. It wasn't until I mentioned your name that it all came back to him and his reaction…well let's just say it wasn't something that anyone could stage."

"He didn't remember?" Spencer asked, his brow furrowing in confusion. "Are you sure? What was his reaction? What did he do?"

"I'm sure, kiddo," Rossi said, using his favorite term of endearment for Reid. "Because it's not every day that our unit chief loses his lunch on the side of the highway," he described with a laugh.

"Wait, wait, wait…Rossi…you said police station," Derek pointed out. "Why was he at the station?"

Sighing heavily, the older agent leaned back in his chair and crossed his legs. He then tented his fingers and said, "I guess I better start at the beginning…"

Fifteen minutes later the profilers sat in silence, pondering the information that had been shared. Morgan was the first to break the peace. "You know, none of that changes what he did. When someone is tripping on acid and decides to kill their love one because they think they're a threat we don't excuse them. We don't care if the drugs addled their brain so much that they can't remember their actions the next day – we just arrest them and prosecute them. Hotch is no different. I don't care that he didn't remember. I don't care that he's showing remorse. He still attacked Reid unprovoked and he's not going to get away with it."

Rossi flicked the wrist that was supporting his chin out, "I didn't tell you his story so that you'd forgive him." He shifted in his seat. "Derek, you seem to be under the impression that I'm here to plead Aaron's case and I'm not. I think what he did – regardless of my knowledge of his mental state– was despicable," Dave glanced over at Reid, who looked down at his injured leg. "I know that he's feeling immense guilt over Haley's death, and – like I told him – he needs to learn how to cope without the assistance of alcohol. And just so we are perfectly clear, when I left Aaron I informed him that while I will always be his friend – that I'm not abandoning him when he needs help the most – I also told him that I wasn't going to be able to forgive him for what he did last night." Spencer looked up and locked eyes with the older profiler upon his last words. "What he did to you, Spencer."

The fury behind Derek's eyes dimmed a little at Rossi's placating words. He turned toward his best friend and saw how the younger man seemed to shrink in on himself at the mention of his assault. Knowing that his friend needed some moral support, he walked over to the couch and crouched down next to the genius. "What are you thinking up there in your big ol' brain?"

Spencer's mouth opened and closed a few times but before he could release any words his stomach let out a resounding growl. "I was thinking about breakfast," he stated embarrassedly, flushing as he looked down at his belly and pursed his lips together.

Aware that his best buddy was avoiding his question, Morgan decided to let him slide. He stood up slowly, his knees cracking from the strain, "Well then, I guess some cereal is in order. I think I have a box of Cocoa Krispies in the pantry."

"Uh-actually…I was rather hoping for some pancakes," Spencer said sheepishly, casting his eyes downward so that his long lashes almost brushed up against his cheeks.

Morgan raised his eyebrows in surprise. "Really? You have requests now?"

The genius let out a little laugh at his friend's reaction. "Yeah."

"Alright, I'll go make some pancakes then. But only because you're injured. Don't go expecting this every time you visit," he said playfully before walking into the kitchen.

Dave cleared his throat when the other profiler had sufficiently disappeared from the room, catching the younger man's attention. "So, kiddo, how come you wanted Derek out of here?"

Spencer took a deep breath of air and let it out before he met Rossi's eyes. "I need your help," he said.

"Of course. What can I do for you?"

"I want to talk to Hotch."

"Come again."

"I need to speak to Hotch about what happened," Spencer stated firmly.

Rossi's lips tightened in thought. He looked the poor boy over and couldn't help but ask, "Are you sure you're ready for that?"

It was obviously the wrong thing to say, for the genius's countenance turned dark. "Why wouldn't I be?" he inquired scornfully. "Why is it that everyone seems to think I can't handle myself?"

Immediately, Dave held up his hands as a sign of surrender. "No, no, no…you misunderstand me. Reid…Spencer, it's not that I don't think you can handle yourself – it's just that it hasn't even been twenty-four hours – have you really had enough time to process everything that's happened?"

Slightly pacified by the Italian's explanation, Reid eased his tone a little bit, "Trust me. I've had plenty of time to think about what I need to do. There was the whole time I was sitting alone on my couch in utter agony, the ride to the hospital, my time in the exam room, my ride here, and the past few hours I've had here on this lovely couch. I've had nothing but time to think about everything."

"If you're sure, then I'll be happy to help," Rossi promised, though his skepticism was still peeking out from behind his eyes. "What is it you want me to do?"

"I need you to take me into work tomorrow morning."

"That's all?" Dave asked, surprised at the simple request. "Why don't you want Morgan to do it?"

Another scowl appeared on Reid's angelic face. "If Morgan takes me he'll insist on being in the room when I confront Hotch. He doesn't think – he doesn't trust me to…," the genius growled when he couldn't think of the right words to say.

"He doesn't trust you to handle Hotch appropriately?"

Relieved that his mentor understood, Reid sighed. "Exactly. He thinks that just because I'm not yelling and screaming in anger that I'm ready to forgive Hotch for what he's done." Spencer bit his lip for a second before saying, "I'm not. I-I don't think I can ever forgive him. But I need to tell him that in my own way – not Morgan's."

Knowing that Spencer was in desperate need to control what was going on in his life right now – that there was at least something that he determined the outcome of – Dave was quick to agree, "Alright. I can do that for you. One question though…"

"Hmm?"

"How are you going to get out of here without Morgan knowing?"

"Oh…yeah…I figured you could come get me around 6:15 in the morning while Morgan is out jogging," Reid explained.

"Don't you think he'll panic when he gets home and finds out that you've left?"

Reid screwed up his lips in thought. "I'll…uh…I'll leave him a note on the door. He'll see it as soon as he gets home."

Rossi pursed his lips and then said, "Okay."

"Okay? So, you'll be here at 6:15 tomorrow?" Reid asked with the hope in his voice as clear as a bell.

"Yeah, kiddo. I'll be here…though, you may owe me a coffee for disrupting my sleep schedule," Rossi teased right before he held a finger to his lips to signal that the genius shouldn't say anything else.

"What's disrupting your beauty sleep, Rossi?" Derek asked as he walked into the room with a T.V. tray loaded down with food.

"The squawking birds outside of my window," he fibbed. "Hey, that smells pretty good."

Morgan flashed his coworker his pearly whites at the compliment. "Yeah, I think I have enough to make us both a plate. But you've gotta come and get it because I sure as hell ain't serving you too!"

Rossi chuckled at the playful banter and pushed his body up out of his chair. "Lead the way."

"Come on," Derek gestured, leading the Italian into the other room.

Spencer watched the two men go before he reached over to the end table and snatched up his phone. He flipped it open and quickly typed out a message. His thumb hovered over the send button for a few seconds as his meager stomach contents did a flip. He knew that once he sent the message that there would be no turning back – that his life was going to be forever altered. The nervous agent was about to erase the text but then a different thought came to mind. "This isn't my fault! I'm not the one who changed everything; he is," he whispered fiercely to himself. With that in mind, he sent off the text and closed his eyes, allowing his taxed body to melt down into the soft cushions while the breakfast Morgan prepared for him cooled on its tray.

* * *

The first thing that Hotch did when he entered his apartment was collapse in front of the trash bin, where he subsequently brought up another round of stomach acid. Aaron couldn't decide whether the expulsion was caused by Rossi's words, the memory of his actions or the liquor because they all were still haunting him, unsettling his shaky stomach and niggling at his brain.

When he was done expectorating the acerbic residue from his mouth, he leaned back against the wall and groaned.

What was he going to do?

He couldn't expect Spencer to get over this quickly – hell, he couldn't expect Spencer to get over this at all. He'd pretty much ruined a very valuable friendship, his whole career, and his ties to his pseudo family in one fell swoop. A strangled snort escaped his lips at the thought of all he had accomplished due to one really bad decision.

Liquor.

Fucking alcohol.

The bane of his existence – of his family's existence.

Rossi was right and last night proved it. He was following in his father's footsteps.

That thought alone turned his stomach and caused him to retch a little in his mouth.

How could he have allowed this to happen?

He had sworn as a child – as a teenager – that he would never find solace in a bottle. But as he looked back now he knew he had been doing it on and off for the last three years. It all started when Haley started getting annoyed with his job and voicing her discontent. Since then he'd had a full bottle of Jack stowed away in his office at work and in the cabinets at home.

The dawning realization that he'd indeed turned into the one man that he loathed above all others caused the hungover unit chief to groan in shame. He rubbed his hands over his face and pushed himself up off the floor.

Determined to try and right the one wrong he had control of at the moment, Aaron stumbled across the kitchen and opened the cabinet above the refrigerator. Inside the two bottles of whisky glistened in the light of the morning sun that was streaming through his window. He stretched out his arm and grabbed the nozzles of the bottles, pulling them down and placing them by the sink. After that he shut the door and walked over to the cause of his current problem.

He looked at the textured glass and observed that one of the bottles was drained down to the dregs while the other was still sealed for freshness. More than likely if he had come home last night they'd both be sitting empty in the recycling bin and he'd be passed out in his bed – but that didn't happen. Instead, here he was, contemplating the impact of his poor decision and how he could go about setting it right; if he could at all.

The first thing he knew he had to do on his journey of repentance was exactly what Rossi told him to do. So, he unscrewed the two caps and upended both bottles into the sink. The glucking sound of the alcohol as it escaped the glass container filled the kitchen. Down in the sink the amber liquid swirled around the drain and down into the pipes, disappearing out of the man's life, hopefully, forever.

After the last drop had been drained, Hotch dropped the bottles into the sink and placed his hands on the counter. He placed his weight on his arms and dipped his head down, trying to push down the sudden rush of anxiety he felt upon losing his crutch.

"I can do this," he murmured to himself. "I have to do this!"

Out of nowhere the phone that he had dropped into his pocket, after he fetched it out of his bag of belongings, chirped.

The stoic man was just going to ignore the noise but years of running one of the F.B.I's most notorious units compelled him to inspect the devise.

He was glad that he did. For scrawled across the tiny screen was a simple sentence that held so much hope and so much horror for the conflicted man.

S.R. - " _Meet me tomorrow morning in your office at 6:45."_

Hotch immediately typed his reply back and set the phone aside.

He had a whole day to figure out how he was going to right this egregious wrong.

* * *

Early Monday morning the elevator doors on the sixth floor of the F.B.I. building opened with a soft whoosh, revealing the dimly lit bullpen nestled behind a pair of large glass doors. Spencer, who was used to this sight due to his habit of arriving to work before the rest of the crowd, slowly shuffled out of the lift; his crutches clacking each time they made contact with the linoleum floor.

The injured agent opened one of the doors and awkwardly sidled through it before it closed. He paused once he was inside and looked around the room. The space was lit by four overhead lights and a few random desk lamps – his own being one of them. On the balcony above the spread of desks only one office showed any signs of life, Aaron Hotchner's. There was a soft yellow light shining through the open door; it was the only indication that the man was in his office for the blinds were closed up tight.

Reid felt his stomach drop at the sight of the occupied office. The nerves he had been trying to suppress since he shot off that text yesterday morning surged forth as if the flood gates of his mind had finally opened. His hands started to tingle and then began to shake as adrenaline started to surge through his system at the mere thought of the confrontation that was going to take place.

The faint creek of Hotch's leather chair broke Reid out of his hesitant haze. He shook his head back and forth to rid his mind of the anxious thoughts that picked at his grey matter. When his worry was sufficiently quelled, he took a deep breath and scuffled over to the stairs that led to the row of offices.

He stopped short of the incline, gazing at the five steps that looked more like Mt. Everest in his mind. "You've done this before," he whispered, trying to convince himself that the pain wouldn't be that bad. "Just do it."

Determined not to let out a single whimper, lest Hotch know how badly he was injured, he ground the crutches into his armpits and lifted them up onto the first step. Using all the strength he had he slung himself up the hurdle and crushed his eyes closed. His left foot had hit the ledge of the step on its way up, jarring his knee and sending streaks of lightning sharp pain up his leg. The young man bit his tongue to keep the sob of pain he wanted to release locked inside of his throat.

When the sting finally subsided, Reid lifted his chin and looked straight ahead, focusing his amber orbs on the office before him. He knew that he couldn't afford to keep stopping every step he scaled or else he'd never make it to the top silently. So he ground his teeth and mentally counted to three. He then pushed his body practically beyond limits and made it to the summit of the mighty mountain in noiseless agony.

He then allowed himself a few moments to regather his strength at the top of the steps before he pressed onward.

He hobbled down the walkway with his head held high before he stopped in the threshold of his superior's office with the knobs of his crutches across the carpet line and his feet on the other side. He cleared his throat to announce his presence and watched as his boss's haggard face looked up from the paperwork that was sprawled out on his desk.

When their two gazes met, umber versus amber, a jolt of electricity flowed through the room. One man's eyes narrowed to slits while the other's opened up like an owl's.

Wide-eyed and worried, Aaron flew up out of his chair and said, "Reid?"

Spencer watched as the other agent's eyes flicked downward and took in his massive brace.

He watched as Hotch scrutinized his knee, even though his tender flesh was covered by a layer of corduroy and the Velcro wrappings of the medical devise.

He watched as the stoic man registered the implications of the crutches and connected them to his actions on Saturday night.

But he couldn't watch as Aaron's mouth, the mouth of a man he once deeply admired and looked up to, opened up to speak.

"No."

The closed his lips and lifted an eyebrow, confusion dominating his visage. "No?"

"No. You don't get to apologize," Spencer announced, entering the room and shutting the door with the tips of one of his crutches behind him. "We both know that you were extremely intoxicated on Saturday and we both know that alcohol lowers a person's shields, allows them to say things they normally wouldn't. You meant some of what you said. You wanted to hurt me. So, no. You don't get to apologize and you don't get to know how I'm doing."

"I-I…d-didn't…," the man stuttered, trying to figure out how to respond. He watched as Spencer's face twisted in anger. "A-Alright...how about we sit down instead? I can grab a stool to prop your leg up with," he offered watching the younger man lurch over to his desk, never breaking his steady gaze on the superior agent.

Instead of accepting the offer, Spencer growled out, "Stop. Just stop!"

"Stop what?" Hotch asked gently.

"Stop acting like everything is normal. Stop acting like you care."

"But I do care about you, Reid – "

"No – Aaron…no, you don't. If you actually cared about me we wouldn't be here right now. We wouldn't be standing here about to discuss the repercussions of your heinous act the other night," Spencer said calmly but with venom dripping off of each word.

"I-I know what I did was – "

"No – just stop," Reid ordered, lifted up his hands with his fingers spread wide. "You don't get to talk right now. I called this meeting. This is for me. And I didn't come here to listen to you try to explain why you did what you did. It's my turn to talk – my turn to tell you what's on my mind. All you get to do is listen. Because…because I don't want to hear your voice right now…honestly, I can't take hearing your voice right now. And I sure as hell don't want to hear you try to excuse what you did to me – what you said to me when you came over my house _drunk_ on Saturday night."

Hotch closed his mouth and crossed his arms in front of his chest. He nodded his head, indicating that he was ready to listen to whatever it was that Reid had come there to say.

Satisfied that the man finally got the picture, Spencer lowered his hands back to the handles of the crutches and straightened his spine. "I came here to tell you that as of today, we will no longer be working with each other anymore."

The genius paused a moment to let his words sink in. "I don't trust you anymore. I don't trust you with my best interests. I don't trust you with my secrets. And I certainly don't trust you with my life."

Aaron went to say something but Reid pushed on before he could get a word out. "We both know that once trust between agents is lost than the team will become compromised. I mean, how can I go out in the field with you and trust you to have my back, especially now that I know how you feel about me. I'm surprised our team functioned this well all along. You've never trusted me. You – you're one of those people that only values me for my brain and other than that you find me useless. I just…I just can't believe it took me this long to realize it…that it actually took you telling me as much."

"So, I decided that for the good of all the future cases out there – to ensure that investigations won't be tainted by our distrust of each other, we can no longer work together. And honestly, I doubt after today the rest of the team will be able to work with you either. But I'll leave that up to them to decide. Because, rest assured, Aaron, that they will know by the end of the day what you did," Reid said matter-of-factly. "I'm not going to hide your actions from them. They deserve to know what you are capable of. They deserve the right to be able to reevaluate whether or not they feel they can work alongside you."

"You know, you once told Strauss that trust has to be earned. Well, you earned mine. After all these years of working side by side, I let you in. I allowed you to teach me, mentor me, and I allowed you to be my friend. I don't do that easily. It takes me a long time to let my guard down around people and…and what happened Saturday night is the reason why. Somehow, someway the people I let in always let me down. I just never thought you'd be one of them," he said sullenly, his eyes going glassy at the thought of Hotch's betrayal.

Opposite of the genius, Aaron was barely containing his emotions. He was having a hard time watching the young man in front of him bear his soul knowing that he was the cause of all of Spencer's pain. Yet, in that moment, he couldn't have been more proud of Reid. The youthful agent that had entered the BAU as a boy was now every part a man. The lanky profiler was no longer shying away from confrontation but facing it head on. He was standing up for himself while still allowing his emotions to show. It was that combination of determination and vulnerability that touched the unit chief deep in his soul and caused him to speak out of turn, "God, Reid…I'm so sorry. I'm sorry about everything. I seriously can't even find words good enough to express how deeply I regret what I've done. All I can say is that I understand that you want to quit the team and I'll fully support your bid to move anywhere else in the organization. It's the least I can do after…after…"

Fire flashed in Reid's eyes upon hearing Hotch's pitiful apology. He was quick to cut off the other man by saying, "I don't want to hear it, Aaron." Again he made use his former supervisor's given name as a way to show the other man that he no longer had any respect for him. "And let me make clear what I meant when I said we couldn't work together anymore -"

"REID!" came a deep bellow from out in the bullpen.

Spencer halted his speech and rolled his eyes, immediately recognizing Morgan's deep tone. He looked back at Hotch and said, "Give me a second."

Hotch stayed behind his desk and watched as Reid wobbled over to the door. The genius opened the barrier and wordlessly peered out into the large room. Morgan must have already been on his way up the stairs because seconds later his large body was looming in the doorway.

"Reid, let me in there," the profiler demanded as he tried to elbow his way through the door.

"No, Morgan," Reid refused.

"What do you mean, no? And why did you leave without me this morning? We were supposed to do this together."

"No, Morgan, you thought we were going to do this together. I never agreed with you. Besides, I told you countless times that this was something I needed to do on my own. Now please, leave us alone," he said intractably.

Derek huffed a breath of air. "This isn't right, Reid," he said, pushing up on his feet to get a look at Hotch over Spencer's head. "You're lucky he's standing in my way right now, man, or else your face would be more swollen than his knee."

"Morgan, leave!" Spencer hissed, swaying closer to his friend in an effort to push him away.

"Nah, Reid, I can't," Derek said, brushing off his friend's order. "You hear me, Hotch? You're not going to get away with this."

"Derek, get out of here right now!"

"Hey, hey, hey. What's all this about?" Rossi's said, peeking out of his office's door.

Derek looked over at the Italian and growled, "You know what this is about."

The older man flowed out onto the balcony and over to the incensed profiler. "Come on now, Derek. Let's leave these two alone. You'll get your chance to bash Hotch's brains in later."

Morgan's eyes tightened at Rossi's placating tone. "You knew he was coming this early. Didn't you?" he accused.

With a twinkle in his eye, Rossi answered glibly, "Who do you think drove him?"

The protective profiler looked between the two men and deflated in defeat. "Fine," he yielded, "But this isn't over Hotch. You can be sure that I'll be catching up with you later."

Rossi patted the furious man on the back and ushered him down the aisle way and into his office.

Reid, who watched them the whole way pulled his body back into Hotch's workspace after he mouthed a quick "Thank you," to Rossi. He then closed the door and asked, "Now, where were we?"

"You were going to explain to me what you meant by saying we could no longer work together."

"Right," the genius said, "What I was going to say before Morgan decided to make his appearance was that...well, I think it's time for you to start getting your life back in order. And to do that, Aaron, you are going to have to let go of the one thing that keeps reminding you of the worst day of your life – your job. Being here in the BAU day in and day out isn't healthy for you, especially since every case we see, every unsub we hunt, will always remind you a little bit of Haley. Each day that you are out there battling the world's demons is adding to your distress – yet you are repressing your feelings. You aren't facing her death head on. You take every single thought of her and what she went through and you push it down inside. It wasn't until Saturday that your suppression of those thoughts finally took its toll. You couldn't keep them locked up inside anymore – there was no room to spare and they all came tumbling out. And because you couldn't handle the onslaught of pain that came with them you turned to the one thing that would quiet them down…only it didn't this time. This time the liquor made them louder. So loud that you couldn't ignore them any longer…but instead of facing them, you decided to take out your aggression on me."

Reid took a shaky breath at the memory of his assault. "You can't allow that to happen again. Because who will be on the receiving end next time? J.J.? Penelope? Dave? Derek? Or how about Jessica? Can you handle seeing her, a woman who resembles Haley so much, every day when you pick up your son? What about Jack? Can you live with the constant reminder of the love you and Haley shared? Will you take your anger out on them next time?"

"I would never –"

"You didn't think you'd ever hurt me though, did you?" Spencer probed tempestuously.

Hotch stared open-mouthed at Reid.

"Before this weekend no one thought you had it in you to hurt one of us…but you did. What's to stop you from going after your family next time?" Reid asked critically.

"I love Jack. I would never lay a hand on him!"

"I believe that you love him, Aaron. I know you'd give your heart and soul to make sure he was safe. But right now you are not in a good place and you are not handling your grief in a healthy manner. Something inside your heart died along with Haley and you need to take a step back from everything in order to figure out how to bring it back alive. You - you need to figure out how to put Jack first and how to cope with all the guilt that is layered on top of your shoulders. And you staying here, working at the BAU, isn't the way. For now you need to let this place go. You need to embrace the family you have left and start rebuilding your life," Spencer declared wisely.

"I can't do that, Reid. I need to be here. This job is…is the only thing that is stable in my life right now. I need it."

"No, Aaron, Jack is the only thing stable in your life right now and you need to cling to him tighter than bark on a tree. Besides, you don't have a choice in the matter," Reid stated seriously.

"What?"

"No matter what, by the end of the day, you are done in the BAU."

Hotch let out a nervous chuckle, "You're joking, right?"

Reid scowled, "Not at all. In a few minutes when I walk out of here you have a choice to make. Either you will walk over to Strauss's office and accept the transfer to the desk job that she offered you or you do nothing. Though, if you choose to do nothing I will be paying her a visit in which to inform her of why you are no longer fit for duty."

"You wouldn't," Hotch uttered in disbelief.

Upon hearing the despair in his former friend's voice, Spencer's cool exterior broke a tiny bit. He bit his lip in contemplation, trying to figure out how to respond. "Please don't think I'm doing this for revenge. I'm doing this for you. You can't keep going on like this."

Aaron snorted. "And what about you? How are you going to recover from this when you won't even let me apologize? Aren't you hiding your emotions away too?"

"On the contrary, I'll be fine. I've had years of practice with recovering from trauma on my own…but this time…this time I'm pretty sure the team will be with me every step of the way. Heck, Morgan's already moved me into his place and Rossi assured me I can move in with him when Derek starts to smother me. But that's all beside the point…because remember, Aaron, that you lost the right to inquire about my wellbeing the second you attacked me in my own home. So how I really plan on dealing with all of this is my business alone."

The unit chief looked down at his desk in shame at the reminder of his atrocious act. "You're right, Reid. You're right. But you can't honestly expect me to turn in my resignation today. This is all too fast. Just give me a few days to make up my mind on what I want to do."

"I never asked for you to resign from the F.B.I. I just am telling you that you need to leave this team. And if that isn't something you can do, Aaron, I'm going to do it for you," Spencer said harshly.

Hotch just nodded, realizing that there was nothing he could do to keep his current position. "Right."

Seeing that his former unit chief finally understood his options, Spencer decided it was time to exit. Mutely, he turned around and started back over to the door. His hand was touching the cool metal knob when he spoke out one last time to his former friend, "And Aaron, I need you to understand that what I'm about to say is not being said in hate but rather in a sense of self-preservation. Can you do that for me?"

"Yes."

"I want you to know that while I understand what you did to me was an action that was triggered by a long and vicious chain of events starting way back when you were handed The Reaper's case, I-I just can't find it in myself right now to forgive you. It's kinda funny…because after all of the unsubs that we have faced it wasn't one of them that shattered my faith in humanity…but rather it was you. You were the one that took my trust and broke it into a thousand pieces and for that…well…Aaron, I'm asking you not to contact me again. After I walk out of these doors I am uninterested in continuing on as your friend and I don't want to hear from you. So, please…respect my wishes and give me the time that I need to get over your betrayal. And if and when enough time has passed, I will be the one to contact you and not the other way around," Reid said, the tone of his words a mixture of both sadness and strength.

"I understand," Hotch answered soberly from behind him.

"Thank you," Reid murmured before turning the knob and exiting the office. "You have until eight o'clock to make your decision." With that the younger man left the room and his former teammate behind.

* * *

Once the agent had disappeared from sight Aaron allowed himself to collapse into his chair. He perched his elbows up on the desk and lowered his head into his hands.

He knew what he had to do.

At eight o'clock on the dot, the once unbreakable Aaron Hotchner walked out of his office and straight to Erin Strauss's. Once he was inside he requested the transfer to the White Collar Crime Division that she had offered after Haley's death and asked for two weeks of personal leave, citing the need to spend more time with Jack.

* * *

 **I chose the mythical Phoenix to represent Reid in this chapter. If you are unaware of what a Phoenix represents here is an explanation:**

 **Taken word for word from youqueen dot com:**

The phoenix represents renewal, rebirth and the beginning of a new life.

The rising of the phoenix symbolizes that a person has gone through difficult times, but has resurrected and survived. It means that he or she has arisen from flames as a winner, beating all life challenges and defeating hard times.

Phoenix is therefore a symbol of rebirth from the ashes of the past, and it also represents the victory of life over death, thus immortality.

* * *

 **Well, that's all for now friends. I don't know what my next story will be yet. I'm toying with a few ideas and I might just post them as oneshots to see which story line people like the best. As of right now though, nothing is written but I do hope to see you soon!  
**

 **Take care!**


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